


a study in postmodernism

by w4rl0rd



Category: i dont have any fandom to add this in
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Jazz - Freeform, Smoking, THE CONFIDENCE IS OUTSTANDING u feeling urself, bear with me ok, dingy clubs, fem reader !, i literally dont know how far ill go with this tell me if u want smut i guess, the tension is Through the Roof, this will eventually be smutty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-13 23:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14758323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/w4rl0rd/pseuds/w4rl0rd
Summary: As a jazz singer for an off-cornered London club, your life was mostly glam on the stage, despite the constant smell of cigarettes and alcohol stained in the air.All until one particular audience member catches your eye.{tom hiddleston x reader}





	1. Thursday.

**Author's Note:**

> ok like the tags say i havent slept for about 24+ hours and im running off 50s, 40s & 30s music so bear the fuck with me pls .  
> honestly the most difficult bit abt writing this is picking a suitable Hiddleston Look ™ to go off of so i wanna keep it vague if you've got one in mind . 
> 
> for reference here's like A song i was listening to that sorta pushed me to write this- just for aesthetic purposes at least :  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=plIZho8Nd2g
> 
> cool happy reading B)

 

_7:00pm, Camden somewhere._

Like every Thursday & Friday night, your attention had to be present at the _One Eyed Jack_ 's club, just off the side of Camden station.  
You lived close, and wore your evening attire on your commute to your profession. High heels piercing through the sidewalk, the usual chatter and noise pollution drowning out the sound.  
You shuffled in your large furry coat, covering your velvet dress as in attempt to warm yourself up. You never liked dressing weather appropriately, and while the walk wasn't long, you still felt the bitter cold of October nights in England. 

Drawing nearer, your diamond earrings reflected in the lights of the club's door, glistening in the early night.   
Usually your time slot was from about 8pm til 10, when the night came to a wind down in the stage area and rowdier in the audience.   
10pm at a dark and dingy yet still somehow expensive Jazz club meant either the end to an intuitive night, or the beginning of a very interesting and maybe slightly less clever affair. 

The audience never seemed to differ, as this was not an open and popular club. This was hidden, off a side street, with no sign on the door.   
Only those who'd been before go again, there never seemed to be any newcomers, nor any disappearances from the usual faces.   
There never was an explicit exclusivity, yet it was almost implied. The guests knew never to quite trust each other and get too comfortable. Despite the mellow nature of those that attended, there was always a hint of hostility and superiority in the air.   
Those who arrived dapper, every week without fail, were never short of a tuxedo and bow tie, and occasionally a glamorous partner on their arm.   
Rarely any discussion amongst each other but always a consistent competition. 

As for you, you sang. You owned the stage from these timeslots, and despite how unfriendly the audience felt amongst each other, they worshipped you infront of the slightly tinted spotlights that illuminated you as you sang.   
Your hair was always down and waved meticulously, laying almost effortlessly against your shoulder as it complimented your always velvet dress.   
Simplicity was an aspect in your appearance, as you liked emphasizing your character through your voice and your performance, and having too much on you distracted from that.   
Other than your waved hair and form-fitting dress, you donned your sparkle in your staple earrings and necklace. 

You walked through the back entrance to behind the stage, putting your coat down. Though it very much was 2018, stepping through those doors really did sweep you back to the past; accessories like oil lamps and lavish deep red curtains and walls adorned the dimly lit den, and although the air was a constant stale of cigarettes, alcohol and _sex_ , you found yourself quite comfortable in the atmosphere. 

The sex aspect was also implied. These clubs were clean, manned, something as indecent as the fondling of breasts or tugging of trousers would've been unsightly to present around such a niche crowd. Though as with that 10pm dawn came the option for guests to lock arms with new unsuspecting partners and leave for the night, either to a local hotel or apartment, and engage in all the repressed nastiness they'd accumulated throughout the evening. 

This nastiness, this weight of lust and this built up hunger, was your job.  
Two days a week, for two hours a night, it was your job to saunter in the head of these lights, letting your deep toned voice accompany the warming sound of the instruments- pianos, cellos, violins, saxophones- you name it.   
You were the consistency through every manner of orchestral talent and song choice.   
For these four hours a week, you stood centre stage and swayed to the notes you sang to be _consumed_ by an audience.   
Sure, you were a performer, but you were a performer _for_ this group, who lapped up your every gentle move and noise. You were the dominant who had all control, as men and women of all ages and undeniably- class- witnessed you own this room.

And tonight was no different. 

_7:58pm, Centre Stage._

You walked onto the now dark stage, to set up your microphone comfortably and give your customary nod to those who will be playing the orchestral role for the night.   
The usual applause erupted from the eager crowd, giving you that confidence boost you most certainly did not need.  
From where you stood on each of these nights, even though the club was not the largest of clubs, and you could possibly comfortably name all the attendees due to its size, you still could not make out the individual faces and piglike grins that dotted the seats. You put this down as one of the reasons as to why you didn't seem to falter with public performances, as you always found everyone drowned into a sea of blurry dots. The attachment disappeared. These weren't people with opinions and feelings to you, they were simply lights that occasionally lit up, then fizzled out again. 

The floodlights raised, the applause raised, and you raised your head to the microphone.

Your eyes twinkled alike to your jewellery, and you gave a smirk as you opened your mouth to sing. 

—

As the first song came to a conclusion, you tore your eyes away from your lowered gaze to look forward, smiling at the crowd giving you a quick hand, when you found for the first time since you started- your eyes catching on something.  
One of the many lights that blend into the smear that is the audience infront of you.  
This particular dot was sat at the bar, legs against the metal of the stool, elevated almost as if to torture you.   
His hair was slicked back, also in a suspended wave, as his long slender hands adorned with intricate rings held a crystalline glass of something of the whiskey variety.  
You focused, squinting slightly, not breaking your composure, but noticed of a room of insects with their beady eyes clinging onto you, he was the only one not looking. 

You felt something strange you'd never felt before, and more or less went through the 5 stages of disbelief. 

_'Is he really not looking at me?'_

_'Out of everyone in this room I'm on stage and he's not paying attention?'_

_'Why is he even here if he's not paying attention to the performers?'_

You had a quick second to run through these emotions before you remembered you were in fact on stage, and needed to act as such.  
An almost nervous chuckle escaped you, confused and slightly mortified by your thoughts over this one fucking guy you don't even know, as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and introduced the next song. 

—

_'He's still not fucking looking at me.'_

_'Is this on purpose? Is he here with someone else? I definitely would've noticed him before. Is he actually real, is this some sort of test?'_

You watched from the stage as he just occasionally raised his glass to his lips, gently shutting his eyes as he took a sip.

You felt almost a pang of anger, jealousy, then a surge of determination because YOU GET PAID FOR THIS, DAMMIT.

Instead, you simply leant forward and curled your fingers around the microphone, winking before starting the next song.

—

Somewhere between your rendition of a Bowie song, and some Julee Cruise, you flicked your eyes back up mid-verse, eyelashes fluttering and red lips in a confident yet playful grin as you found this time you _locked eyes_ with him.

Oh fuck.

You didn't let yourself waiver though, you kept singing, maintaining eye contact as you did so, pretending you didn't feel like your insides and your brain were on fire.  
He hadn't stopped looking, and even from where you were you could make out the clarity of his oceanic eyes, on you and only you.

This perked you up a bit and you ended your verse with another wink, this time just for him, and then you broke eye contact and continued with your sauntering. From your peripheral, you swear you saw him shuffle in his seat. Bingo.

— 

Your time came to an end, and you did your usual outro and thanks before an awkward half-bow and a stroll off stage. Now you had time to think about _what the fuck all of that was_. Backstage, you took a deep breath and looked at yourself in the mirror, almost as a gesture to ask yourself about your intrusive thoughts.

You didn't drink Thursday nights, as not to mess things up for your performance the next day, so you stuck to your usual water, just when you saw someone whizz pass. 

''Hey- hey, did we have a new guest tonight?'' you asked. 

One of the backstage tech guys stopped, thinking for a moment before giving you a questionable look.

''You know, something did seem out of place tonight. Almost like a rift in the universe that is this club.''

You laughed, nodding. ''Oh I'm sure. An imbalance in the force. Reckon it could be a fresh face?''

The tech held a finger to his mouth, raising an eyebrow. ''We never, ever get new members. This can't be good news.''

You found yourself staring off to the distance, disappearing in thought over that interesting face, and that intense expression, and for what ungodly reason he could be here for. 

You said your quick goodbyes, grabbed your coat, and braved the cold once again.


	2. Friday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello im trying to update this as much in one go to somewhat complete it

 

_8:00pm, One Eyed Jacks Jazz Club._

 

Tonight was Friday night. 

Just before you nodded to start your set, you gave a quick glance upwards to the crowd, not expecting to see that same gentleman from the night before, but half hoping to.   
You felt a flutter in your chest when you spot that same suave man, perched upon that same stool, alone at the bar. It was almost as if it was his own stage. You were both about the same height in terms of the platform elevation, meaning it was just him, you, and the crowd beneath you. 

Friday nights were slightly more upbeat, less classy as the Thursday, as people _definitely_ had plans outside the club- usually lasting the weekend.    
You switched out your slower songs for more erratic ones, starting with _I Want To Be Evil_ by Earther Kitt.   
This allowed you to have some more fun, twisting your usual somewhat static demeanour for more arm movements, hip swaying, and hair flipping.

Nothing too performance like, but enough to keep it interesting. Flashing of the eyes, giant grins on some words, and your overall job to come off as flirty as possible. 

You were a professional afterall. This individual, albeit intriguing, posed a threat to your job should you have allowed it. You needed to play it cool, remember your profession comes first, and work around that. 

You led with Lesly Gore's _You Don't Own Me_ , the perfect song to set a precedence about you- and still be able to stir things up.

Once again, the lights shifted, your eyes glistening as you bat your lashes and turned slightly from the microphone, playing shy and singing over your shoulder. 

 

> _You don't own me,_
> 
> _I'm not just one of your, many toys._
> 
>  

You let your head fall back, keeping your eyes fixed onto the man at the bar. 

 

> _You don't own me,_
> 
> _Don't say I can't go with other boys._
> 
>  

Licking your lips, you gave a curious smile, turning your body to face the audience and raising your arms elegantly in the light. 

 

> _And don't, tell me what to do_
> 
> _Don't tell me what to say_
> 
> _And please, when I go out with you,_
> 
> _Don't put me on display, 'cause..._

 

You made sure to lock eyes again with this mystery man, as his face was locked in a smirk.   
He raised his glass to you, giving you a courteous nod and taking a swig. 

  

> _You don't own me._

—

Coming off stage for the night, you felt strangely dizzy- almost a form of intoxication. You'd spent most the night making eyes at the mystery man, singing songs from the heart as if you'd already been tangled in a heated romance with this callous gentleman. 

Fridays left you more energized and active, instead of leaving so swiftly you stuck around, waltzing through aisles of the club and exchanging pleasantries with the usual customers, a drink in hand that reflected against your crushed red velvet, sweetheart neckline dress.   
You had a look to you, almost always delved in red to match the decor, but also because you just loved the colour. It spoke fire, danger, and lust. You had at least a dozen red lipsticks, all more or less the same shade yet still so individual. Other than your red dress and lips, you had your sworn by pair of Louboutins, with the elegant red stripe down the heel.

While you socialized, the stage was occupied by the pianist Danny, who played some non-distracting tunes way into the night. You gave your best smiles, almost ballroom dancing around the room with the amount of turns you took, until you ended up at the circular bar in the centre back of the room.  
He'd disappeared by the time you'd got there, you'd imagined he left before you got off the stage and onto the floor, which you mentally cursed yourself for.

You only snapped out of it when the bartender knocked the surface infront of you. 

''Evening, lady in red.''

You hummed. ''What's the occasion? That's a new one.''

''There's been a guy here all night, he asked me to buy a drink for 'the lady in red'. Seemed pretty adamant on it.''

He slid you a flume of yellowish liquid, you lifted and smelt it immediately, peering back up at the bartender. 

He spoke. ''Chardonnay. Most expensive on the menu. £35 a bottle. New Zealand imported.''

You murmured, and finished his thought. ''13%. A flattering choice. This isn't just any drink. This is a love letter.''

The bartender raised an eyebrow and you laughed, waving your glass forward in jest. 

—

After your drink, which was affecting you a little more than you'd thought, you said your quick goodbyes and packed up your stuff and left.   
It was just before midnight, and you stepped back out into the cold and immediately shivered. The alcohol at least giving you a sense of warmth. 

''Have you got far to go?''

A voice came from the side of the entrance, leant up against the wall. Your slight intoxication left you more aloof than you'd have liked, and without looking you called back, still doing up the buttons of your coat.

''No no, literally a 5-10 minute walk. This job is most things, and convenient is one.'' 

You finally turned round and OH MY GOD IT'S THAT FUCKING ONE GUY, leant up against the dark painted wall, with a cigarette between his fingers.   
You couldn't help but giggle to yourself. The club allowed smoking, and most of the guests did. He was doing this on purpose. 

''You got my drink, I hope.'' 

Smiling, you nodded, now just stood somewhat awkwardly on the pavement in the dark. The removal of the stage and all those lights did take quite a bit of power away from you. Along with the additional glass of chardonnay, you might as well have been anybody. 

''Awfully kind of you. Next time you should drink with me.''

This false confidence was outstanding. He laughed, quiet yet wholesome, and you saw his face briefly in the passing headlights. Pale, though somehow golden, as if he was made of the finest riches and materials. His eyes still shone that mix of cool tones, almost transparent through the light behind it.   
Hair still curled ever so slightly, neat yet with the occasional stray that seemed to only frame his face.   
His smile however, was what appeared brightest on his face.   
There was no denying you were attracted to this man. And that wasn't strictly the alcohol talking. 

''Next time, hm? That's awfully optimistic of you.''

You cocked your head to the side, giving an innocent smile.

''Once you join this club, you don't get to leave.''

A wink and a giggle later, you waved and began your walk home. 

The man rested against the boarding, watching you with almost a hunger in his eyes. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok ill also try to add all the things i reference thru these chapters  
> 1st song : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SS02GeKuWQ4  
> 2nd song : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDUjeR01wnU  
> the chardonnay is the Vidal Legacy Chardonnay Hawkes Bay 2014 
> 
> and can u tell my favourite colour is red B)


	3. Week Two, Thursday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i RLLY WANNA ACTUALLY KEEP ON TOP OF THIS FIC AAAA

 

_10:23, Jack's Bar._

 

Your performance was again, sultry and mellow, and your new found stranger was sat at the bar as he always was, paying more attention to your stage presence and almost intimidating you with his intense stare. True, you'd fought so hard last week to get his attention- and it worked- but now you felt almost as if you were in too deep. You enjoyed the thrill of the chase, and the flirting, but you hadn't given it thought as to what this would turn into. A hookup? A relationship? Would you both elope and disappear to the Philippines? Would you have a giant fight and both end up in prison? You swallowed hard.   
  
Right now, you sat opposite once again, those intense eyes since softening while talking to you. You noticed he had a few mannerisms that drove you crazy, like the way he stroked a finger across his jawline while listening to you talk, almost fully unaware of his actions. His hands always found their way to his lips somehow, and it made your mind trail off into what else he could do with both those assets. 

You snapped back into it when those lips curled into a beautiful smile, and you blinked to shake off your imagination.

''You're not focused. Are you alright?'' his soft voice asked. 

You felt an annoying warmth tickle your cheeks, embarrassed by your inattentiveness.

''Yes- yes, sorry. I was just wondering... why is it you started attending this place?'' 

He hummed from his throat, a low groan that made your chest tighten, as he swirled his drink. 

''I heard singing from inside a couple weeks ago in passing. I thought nothing of it until I couldn't get that voice out my mind.''

The stranger, his head down, but eyes up at you and truly delving into your soul, almost waited for a response to his compliment. 

You, meanwhile, were still processing his words. You did this? His words were so sweet they were sickly. You needed something salty.

''Do you have anything else from a book you can say?'' Your eyebrow raised. 

The man tilted his head, displaying an emotion almost unreadable. You knew you'd set yourself up here. Stirring in his seat, he shuffled closer to the bar and leant across the surface until he was merely inches away from your face. From here, you could study every detail, even in the soft glow of the club. He spoke. 

_''My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;_

_Coral is far more red than her lips' red;_

_If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;_

_If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head._

_I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,_

_But no such roses see I in her cheeks;_

_And in some perfumes is there more delight_

_Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks._

_I love to hear her speak, yet well I know_

_That music hath a far more pleasing sound;_

_I grant I never saw a goddess go;_

_My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:_

_And yet, by heaven,_

_I think my love as rare_

_As any she belied with false compare_ _.''_

 

God you were fucking screaming internally. If it were legal and socially acceptable to tear someone's clothes off and fuck them on the nearest flat fucking surface, now would absolutely be the time. Visibly heating up, you found yourself swallowing again, movements not nearly as smooth as you'd like them to be. Him on the otherhand. He knew what he'd done and he was revelling in it; watching you squirm in your seat, knowing you couldn't do anything about it. Cursing under your breath, you mustered the composure to give him am innocent smile as you sat back in the stool, crossing your leg over your knee under your dress and laying your arm across the countertop. 

 

''A literary boy, hm? How quaint.'' You forced out. 

 

''You're playing with fire, my lovely lady.''

 

''Interesting thing, to call yourself fire.'' The sip you took from your drink did not deter you from making complete eye contact, knowing you needed to step up your own flirting.

 

A hearty laugh came from the man. ''You're playing with me? Well, tell me...'' his voice went low, and he licked his lips. ''Are you having fun?''

 

Your drink got caught in your throat and you choked silently. That hot feeling was back, along with a slight panic about things getting too real again. Despite your quiet throat burning you lifted a cigarette to your lips, lighting it as you stood and shrugged your coat on. 

 

''You'll have to find out tomorrow, darling stranger.'' 

 

The actual complete _demon_ didn't move from his position as you walked out the bar, the noise from your heels growing more quiet with distance. 

 

You were gonna have to buckle the fuck up tomorrow if you kept acting like this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sup B) that ~recital~ is Shakespeare's Sonnet 130, which has actually been read by the lovely Tom Hiddleston and can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWheBz-Jtok
> 
> thanks as always for readin !


	4. Week Two, Thursday Night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey god im s0 so sorry this took so long!!! im juggling finishing college and moving and im . dying squirtle.
> 
> im so sorry if everything seems like a filler omg but thank u sm for bearing with me <3
> 
> also i did write like half a chapter last week and it all deleted and i mourned ASKDFJGJK soRRY HONESTLY

 

_Sometime close to midnight._

 

This whole thing you had going on seriously fucked with your schedule. This was now the second Thursday you'd spent drinking, and not going straight home after your set. Your usual routine consisted of getting home, taking your shit off immediately, throwing on the comfiest pyjamas and lounging.   
  
You valued your appearance for the show, so while you'd be a trash gremlin every other day of the week, you make sure to shower and shave EVERYTHING before each performance. It was good to be clean. Made you feel better, perform better etc. And it meant when you got back you could literally just crash immediately.    
  
The second you got through the door, you threw off your 'obviously just for standing and looking pretty in' heels, stumbling from the shock of shrinking a couple inches. Next was your ever-shiny dress, over your head and onto your floor, as you reached your dresser and took off your heavy jewellery. The way you displayed it infront of the mirror was the only way you could kid yourself into thinking you were a professional. A professional something, anyway.

Once you'd thrown on your fuzziest, coziest pyjama bottoms and loose stained shirt, you collapsed onto your sofa opposite your television and let out the longest groan. 

Your apartment was... Cozy. Not giant or impressive, but still cozy and stylish. On a good day when it was clean, your kitchen surfaces and island in the centre of the room shone marble, a black and white colour scheme. Your bathroom had the same monochromatic look, though every mirror (or any reflective surface) was a DIY Vanity set, adorned with multiple very bright lights that were likely the cause of your occasional headaches and slightly off looking makeup. Worth it.   
In an attempt to match your business with your personal, your home had a few _Moulin Rouge_ -esque _accessoires._ These consisted of random statues you found for cheap at various thrift stores. The sofa, red. The pillows black; and every non-marbled surface a deep oak. There were hints of gold to match with the details, and in a weird way you found your flat was like a miniature version of the club-- minus the smoke and the sweat and overall heaviness. 

The versatility of your stylish abode allowed for sophisticated get togethers with friends, as well as some late night chance encounters. Which by the looks of things, may happen quicker than you'd have thought.  

You sat up, eyes darting around the room to make sure you noted what you had to potentially clean up by tomorrow, and then it dawned on you. 

_Oh GOD what IS HAPPENING IN MY LIFE_

That same reoccurring mild to severe panic clouded your thoughts as you fidgeted with your hands.   
A shaky breath left you as you ran a hand through your still waved hair, fretting over what your game plan actually was.

If this was a hookup, it'd been a lengthy one for sure. 2 weeks and counting. You thought if he'd waited this long, maybe he'd be willing to play longer?  
You blinked. You weren't even completely sure he wanted to sleep with you. Maybe he was just weird.

Wait.

Did you even know his name?

 

Another suuuuper loud groan left you.


End file.
